


It’s a Ceremony but the Crowd’s Gone

by Chronolith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, But I Love Them, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Scent Marking, Size Kink, a really surprising amount of feelings, these boys are stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 14:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronolith/pseuds/Chronolith
Summary: “Come,” his voice cracks uncomfortably and he has to cough a couple of times to get his throat to work quite right. “Come in.”The door slides away on silent hydraulics. Ryan stands on the threshold in comfortable sweats and a tattered t-shirt, and Lance feels his mouth go dry in, like, a nanosecond. They stare at each other for a long moment. It should be awkward, it probably is awkward for Ryan, but Lance’s higher brain functions have apparently made the executive decision to go offline without warning. The reality of what he’s asked Ryan to do—what Ryan hasagreedto do—had already come down on him like a ton of bricks with all its terrible implications, but somehow, he’d managed to completely forget the good implications.Namely, that he’d be able to get his hands all over all ofthat.Oh god.apparently today is the day that I write an a/b/o fic.welp.





	It’s a Ceremony but the Crowd’s Gone

Lance scrubs both hands through his hair and tries to ignore how much they shake. Tries to ignore how he’s already rucked his bed into a messy nest. Tries to ignore how the room is already filling with the heavy, spicy scent of his heat, coming off his skin like the heat shimmers off desert sand. There are _so many_ reasons why what he’s about to do is a bad idea. He’d tried listing them all out, one by one in tidy bullet points, but Allura’d placed her hand on his arm, tilted her head to the side and just said, “but this will hurt less, yes?” 

And that, as they say, had been that.

His head comes up like a meercat’s sensing danger when the door to his quarters gives a soft ding. 

“Come,” his voice cracks uncomfortably and he has to cough a couple of times to get his throat to work quite right. “Come in.”

The door slides away on silent hydraulics. Ryan stands on the threshold in comfortable sweats and a tattered t-shirt, and Lance feels his mouth go dry in, like, a nanosecond. They stare at each other for a long moment. It should be awkward, it probably is awkward for Ryan, but Lance’s higher brain functions have apparently made the executive decision to go offline without warning. The reality of what he’s asked Ryan to do—what Ryan has _agreed_ to do—had already come down on him like a ton of bricks with all its terrible implications, but somehow, he’d managed to completely forget the good implications.

Namely, that he’d be able to get his hands all over all of _that_.

Oh god.

Ryan fidgets. If Lance hadn’t been watching him like he’s the only thing in the universe, Lance would’ve missed it, just a tiny twitch of his fingers against his thigh, but it’s there. A tiny little tell of nerves and uncertainty. It’s incredibly endearing on a man that Lance has never seen be anything other than utterly confident and self-assured.

“Are you gonna stand there all day?” Lance asks. He leans back on his elbows, making his entire body into an invitation. He’s well aware he probably looks more like a box of spilled pipe cleaners rather than any kind of sexy, but he tries.

It’s really gratifying (if entirely mystifying) when Ryan’s eyes dilate, black eating dark brown until Ryan’s gaze has gone hot and hungry.

“I like to be sure of things,” Ryan says, and his soft, quiet voice has turned into something dark with intention. “Are _you_ sure?”

Lance wants to blow that off, because hell no he’s not sure. Ryan, after Allura, is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Definitely one of the best things to come out of fighting angry purple space chinchillas with colonialist ambitions and he’s terrified of fucking that up. Well. Fucking it up is probably a thing he’s gonna do no matter what because Ryan is composed, the type of confident that borders right on the edge of arrogant but somehow never tips across, and so fucking hot it makes Lance kinda stupid and Lance is … well, _Lance_.

He sits up and braces his elbows on his knees. Folds his hands together between them, wringing them tight enough that his knuckles go white, and sighs.

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” Lance says to his hands. He looks up at where Ryan still stands at the threshold. “I don’t want to fuck us up.” He makes a face. “Though, you know, I probably already did that by asking you to, uh, ‘help’—” Lance can’t keep himself from making exaggerated air quotes and Ryan snorts softly “—me through my heat. I think that’s probably a significant point on any downward curve you’d like to draw on the ‘are things fucked up’ graph.” Lance is aware that he’s off and running at the mouth, but he can’t fucking stop the stupid from bubbling up and over his lips. “An axis has been crossed! Y is less than zero. The jury is still out on x— _hmph._ ”

Ryan fits a hand over his mouth and Lance can’t help but notice how _big_ it is. How it neatly fits across his face. How, with a little bit of adjustment, Ryan could cover his mouth and nose, and just _hold_ him there. 

He can feel his face go up in flames and his breath go short.

“You,” Ryan says slowly, as if he’s not entirely certain Lance is paying attention. Which is fair, because about 90% of Lance’s meagre mental processing power is taken up by cataloging all the ways he really, _really_ wants Ryan to fuck him through the mattress, like, right now. “Are not going to fuck things up.”

Ryan sits back on his heels so he’s kneeling in front of Lance. He drags his hands down Lance’s shoulders, over his arms, to wrap his hands around Lance’s and pull them from their nervous wringing. “If we decide to do this,” there’s a heavy emphasis on the _we_ that Lance appreciates, “it will not fuck us up.”

“Well,” Lance says with an obnoxious drawl. “I’m kinda hoping to at least get fucked.”

That gets him a laugh, just a little huff of amusement, before Ryan leans forward and presses his forehead against Lance’s hands. “If you’re sure.”

Lance breathes out slowly. “I’m sure.”

“And Allura—”

“Her idea, actually,” Lance cuts in before Ryan can finish that sentence, because there’s no way it can potentially end well. Ryan’s eyes get very big with surprise. Lance squirms with the memory Allura proposing what she’d proposed with big, delighted eyes and a grin that’d been way more evil than anyone would ever believe. 

“I mean. Not exactly her _exact_ idea,” he hedges. “She. Um.” Lance looks up at the ceiling because there’s precisely zero possibility of him getting the next words out of his mouth with Ryan looking at him with that level of intensity. “Actually. She wanted to, uh, watch.” Ryan makes a sound like a duck being strangled and Lance completely understands. “She thinks she might be able to mimic the, uh—” Lance flutters his hands between them and then waves them over Ryan in what he hopes is a meaningful manner, “—um.”

“Alpha pheromones?” Ryan supplies. 

There’s a bemused sort of dryness to Ryan’s tone that Lance really appreciates.

Lance huffs out a breath and grabs his courage with both hands. “The knot.” He chances a look at Ryan who looks back at him with an expression Lance can’t parse. “We, uh, we did the whole, uh, heat thing? Together? And it, uh, it didn’t work out so well.”

Ryan’s eyebrows beetle downward into a worried frown.

“Like, lots of fun! Do not get me wrong because, _wow_ , having a shapeshifter girlfriend is amazing. And let me tell you, I didn’t think tentacles were, like, a thing for me? But boy howdy did I get on that kink train real fast. Uh.”

Lance’s voice trails off as Ryan continues to watch him with an amused little smile curling around the corners of his lips.

“I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

Ryan holds up his thumb and forefinger with, like, zero space between them. 

Lance sighs. “As much fun as my last heat was—and it was _super_ fun, let me tell you—it was also, like, twice as long and really hard on both of us because my dumb body refused to accept her as an alpha because, like, the pheromones and the knot were ‘wrong’ and my body is dumb.”

Ryan captures his hands again and runs a thumb along inside of his wrists. Lance shivers. He keeps cycling back to how _big_ Ryan’s hands are. How dark the skin of his fingers looks against Lance’s skin—and Lance is no pasty assed Anglo.

“Your body is not dumb,” Ryan says with that same calm, controlled tone that he uses any time Lance’s up and off to the races rattling on about all of his manifest failings. Lance is really familiar with this tone, sadly. “Or at least not any more or less dumb than anyone else’s.” Ryan shrugs. “Instincts are what they are.”

“What instinct are,” Lance says seriously, “is dumb and lead to a lot of chafing. Like. Oh my god, so much chafing.”

Ryan bites his bottom lip like he’s trying to physically restrain himself from responding.

Lance tangles his fingers with Ryan’s and sort of jogs their hands between them. “I’m serious, Ryan,” he not quite whines. “You have no idea how much chafing happens when your heat won’t quit after a _week_.” Ryan’s eyes dilate out again, black eating brown, and, wow, was that not the reaction Lance’d been expecting. “Chafing and dehydration.”

“A week.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. He tugs one hand free and waves it over his chest. “Dehydration and chafing and _mess_ because my body decided that, in the middle of going into heat, what it really needed to do was, like, uh.”

His voice trails off because as delighted as Allura’d been about the whole … lactation thing, he’s still kinda embarrassed about it. He can feel his cheeks heat again. It’d been a whole ass thing and as much as his brain had completely shorted out around the image of Allura delicately licking at his nipples, tugging at them with her teeth until milk had spilled across her tongue, it still made him hot with mortification. 

Ryan’s eyes have zeroed in on his chest. “Your milk came in during your heat.”

That’s … that is not a question. Lance squirms. Ryan’s voice had dropped an octave lower, rough and husky, like someone’d taken his vocal cords dragged them through gravel and then lit them on fire. It’s not the reaction Lance’d been expecting—honestly, he’s not sure _what_ , exactly, he’d been expecting—but Ryan’s obvious interest had not been it. 

Lance catches the edge of a new scent, like wood smoke and bourbon and the air before a lightning strike, and leans forward chasing it.

Ryan tilts his head, lets Lance crowd into his space, as Lance follows that intriguing smell. It’s like someone has flipped a switch in the lizard part of his brain that’s all instinct and wanting. Not quite his heat, not yet, but something hurtling quickly towards it. Lance braces himself against Ryan’s shoulders and ghosts his mouth along Ryan’s jaw, inhaling open mouthed and nearly panting.

The sound that rumbles out of Ryan is so close growl that Lance’s head fills with white static.

He slides off the bed into Ryan’s lap, mouth sliding along the column of Ryan’s throat, teeth grazing lightly over delicate skin. He might not have Allura’s dainty fangs, but the threat is still there, if ever so distantly.

And Ryan.

Ryan _lets_ him. 

Slides his arms up around Lance to hold him loosely in the cage of his arms as Lance leaves playful bites all along his perfect midnight skin, digs his fingers into the muscles of Ryan’s shoulders, and growls, soft and hiccupping, in all the ways an omega laying a claim might. Ryan goes soft for him, pliant. All that sleek strength and killing edge splayed out in easy submission to whatever Lance might want of him. 

All of Lance’s instincts sit up and take notice. 

_Here_ is an alpha worth digging his claws into. Here’s an alpha laying out all his skills and strength and assets ( _ass_ ets hah!) on the table for Lance to pick and chose as he wishes. Making a gift of himself for Lance to take or discard as he sees fit. Lance curls into Ryan’s spaces like he owns them and purrs, delighted and feral, as Ryan makes an offering of himself.

“So,” Ryan says as Lance nuzzles against his scent gland, nipping at it just enough to flirt with leaving a mark. “I guess your heat has officially started.”

Lance’s rational mind takes a second to beat his hormones back into their boxes. Ryan runs a soothing hand up and down his spine, still lax and easy under him, as Lance shivers and works to remember how to form coherent words.

“Not yet,” he admits. Lance presses his face against Ryan’s neck, breathing in that deep fire and bourbon smell, and Ryan lets him. “You just smell really, really good.”

Ryan laughs. “That’s good,” he says, ever the master of understatement. “It’d be a problem if you thought the scent of my arousal smelled bad.”

Lance pulls back and blinks down at him. “Aroused? Already?”

That gets him an impossibly dry look before Ryan shifts underneath him and pulls him down hard, rolling his hips a little bit, and oh, yep, yeah, that’s definitely Ryan’s cock all hard and pressing against Lance’s thigh. Oh god.

“Oh god,” Lance says because he is the master of being suave and debonair.

“You have the most messed up self-image, you know that?”

“I do not,” Lance defends, feeling flustered and nettled all at once. Ryan rolls his hips again, making Lance squeak as he grinds up against Lance’s ass. “You’re just, uh.” Lance loses his train of thought a little bit as Ryan noses against the hollow of his throat, echoing the shameless way Lance’d been scenting him before. Lance hiccups out a helpless little moan when Ryan introduces his teeth to the equation. “Just— _nngh_ ”

“I’m just?” Ryan murmurs against the sensitive skin right behind Lance’s ear.

“Really hot,” Lance finally gasps out when his throat remembers how to make the words go again. “Also, I have, in fact, met myself. I know what I’m like.”

Ryan apparently decides this particular conversational train is not worth pursuing because he fits one hand against Lance’s jaw, tilts his head just _so_ , and then kisses him like Lance is undiscovered country and Ryan’s determined to plant a flag on it. The entire conversation derails. Goes off the tracks in flames and tiny, whimpering moans. Lance fists his hands in Ryan’s braids and grinds down, shamelessly chasing the friction and the way it makes Ryan groan into his mouth like he’s dying for it.

“Yeah, okay,” Lance says when they finally come up for air. “Less talking, more of that. Please.”

“We’re gonna have to talk about some of this.”

Lance waves a hand between them to gesture emphatically at himself. “Have you met me? I never shut up.”

“You also never actually say anything unless forced.”

Lance pouts at him. It’s a little overwhelming, sometimes, how easily and _well_ Allura and Ryan can see past his squid ink of words and innate bullshit defenses. Makes him feel both strangely vulnerable and comforted. Like they can see into his damaged and broken places and love his miserable ass anyway. 

“I say things,” he retorts, though the defense comes late and meagre. Ryan quirks an eyebrow at him. “I say lots of things. I’m a very deep and eloquent dude.”

He’s about to continue on in that vein for a while, but Ryan pulls him back down for another kiss with a heavy palm across the back of his neck. Lance’s mind kinda blanks out around how broad Ryan’s palm is, how the calluses of his fingers scrap along the sensitive places of his neck, and he moans. Opens his mouth for Ryan’s tongue and sucks on it. Whines when his bottom lip is bitten. Sighs when Ryan licks into his mouth. Floats, hazy and needy, as Ryan explores his mouth with careful meticulousness. Lance flexes his hands in Ryan’s hair, not sure where he’s allowed to put his hands, not sure how fast they’re going to be moving from this lazy, careful making out to, him getting laid out and fucked silly. Ryan palms his ass for a second before dragging him closer. Lance gets a little dizzy at how the broad expanse of Ryan’s thighs splays his legs. Thinks about how it’ll feel to be spread open with his ankles over Ryan’s shoulders and fucking _whines_ for it.

“Eager,” Ryan comments. Lance thinks there might be a laugh in there but for the way Ryan’s all but panting into his mouth.

“You have no idea,” Lance says. “None.”

Ryan rolls his hips up against Lance’s ass again. Lance groans to feel him hard and heavy, trapped in his pants. “I think maybe I do.”

Lance has no idea how Ryan’s managing to be so calm and slyly sarcastic when it feels like his brain is trying to melt right out of his ears. It’s unfair. Completely cruel how he manages to be completely composed while Lance is disintegrating into a whining mess in his lap. He bites Ryan’s lower lip in frustration.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he complains against Ryan’s mouth. 

There’s a low curl of aching need building in his low belly, spreading like poison through his veins, and he groans with it. Lance’d thought he had more time, at least a couple of hours, to talk and get their shit sorted, but apparently his body hadn’t gotten that memo. Not with a hot, willing alpha between his thighs, panting against his throat, hands clenching at his hips. Talking, his body had apparently decided, is for suckers that didn’t have Ryan Kinkade offering himself up like a six-course fucking meal set out on the good china with crystal glassware. He’s going to take Ryan _apart_ and Ryan’s gonna fucking thank him for it.

Ryan laughs a little, but that quickly dies in his throat when Lance rears back and yanks his own shirt off. 

If Ryan won’t get naked, then Lance will, and Ryan can just fuckin’ catch up.

“So eager,” Ryan murmurs as his hands ghost up Lance’s sides. 

“Heat,” Lance says before leaning forward to mouth at Ryan’s scent gland. He closes teeth gently against it, teasing, before hollowing his cheeks and sucking. Ryan makes a sound that sings straight up Lance’s spine and lights up all the primal places in his brain where his instincts live.

“Thought you said that— _nnngh_ ” Ryan starts before his voice peters off into a low growl of need as Lance gets a hand between them and palms his cock.

Lance _wants_ that cock. But he also wants to sit in Ryan’s lap and suck bruises so deep they show up against that dark, dark skin. Wants his marks all over Ryan like warnings. Mark him up so everyone knows that Lance has gotten his hands _aaaalllll_ over all of that. He’s conflicted and annoyed by it. He gets his hands under Ryan’s shirt, palms full of those ridiculous pecs, those rock-hard abs, the obscene cut of Ryan’s hips, and purrs a little.

“That was fast,” Ryan says, more to himself than anything else. Lance snorts. He knows just what Ryan’s talking about.

“My body is super stupid,” Lance says matter-of-factly, pulling back to look Ryan dead in the eye. “Like. You have no idea how dumb. One minute perfectly fine and just, you know, a nervous babbling mess, and next minute,” Lance makes a little swooping gesture with one hand, “hormones everywhere and I want to ride your cock like it’s an A-1 racecar and I’ve got something to prove.”

Ryan blinks. A bemused little expression furrowing his brow before he just completely cracks up. Laughs so hard that he drops his forehead to Lance’s shoulder and shakes with it. Which, okay, this is good, because nothing sounds as good as Ryan’s laughter, but at the same time Lance hadn’t been foolin’ when he said he wanted that cock. He jostles Ryan a little, tugging at his shirt, and making frustrated little growling noises as the bits of his brain that control all the nice civilized things, like words, steadily shut themselves off.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone go as quickly from zero to start as you,” Ryan comments almost idly as he lets Lance strip him out of his shirt. Lance grumbles something in reply, distracted by the play of Ryan’s abs and the wicked v-cut of his hips and dark line of hair leading like a map under the waistband of Ryan’s sweatpants. He tweaks a nipple, grins when Ryan sucks in a deep breath, and then swoops down to nip at it.

“Jesus,” Ryan groans, hand coming up to cup the back of his head. “You don’t waste time.”

Lance tugs the waistband of Ryan’s sweats, frustrated by the angle and the way Ryan seems entirely too content to just sit around and make idle commentary. 

“Why would I waste time,” Lance asks, “when I’ve got you between my legs and my heat has decided that talking is for suckers?”

“You know how to make a boy feel wanted.”

Lance waggles his eyebrows in a lascivious manner because even with his heat ramping up and starting to flood his blood veins with hormones like an invading army poisoning the water supply, he’s got an entire second cerebral cortex dedicated to being a complete dumbass. Ryan waggles his eyebrows back because Ryan is the _best_ and Lance is a little giddy with how much he likes this boy. They grin at each other, half naked and stupid, and all the nervous anxiety that refused to disintegrate even under the onslaught of his hormones just up and dissolves. 

This is Ryan. Things have always been good with Ryan.

He uses the wash of affection and gross gooey feelings he normally tries to pretend he’s too much of a badass to feel like a stick to beat back his hormones. Reclaims the logic bits of his brain. Pushes his forehead against Ryan’s and just spends a moment breathing in his scent. Heady and comforting at the same time.

“I like you _so_ much,” he says with his eyes closed. “You know that right?”

Ryan rubs their cheeks together like they’re cats before pressing a delicate kiss to his forehead. “I know. I like you too.”

“I will totally cut a bitch over you.”

“Possessive!”

Lance links his arms around Ryan’s neck and leans back to roll his eyes dramatically. “My instincts are so fucking stupid, dude, you don’t even know. But I totally want to mark you up so everyone looks at you and just fucking _knows_.” Lance closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together again because he can’t stand to look at Ryan and admit this at the same time. “I wanna get my hands and mouth and scent all over you until there’s no way you can wash me off you. Sink myself into the spaces between your atoms and live there like a fucking gremlin.”

He keeps his eyes closed as Ryan breathes out slowly, so slowly. He’s jumped right of that cliff and hopes he learns how to fly on the way down.

The soft brush of lips against his temple, along his cheek, across the hard line of his jaw startles him. Ryan tightens his grip until Lance knows there’s gonna be bruises, deep and as dark as Ryan’s skin. He _wants_ those bruises. He tilts his head as Ryan noses underneath his jaw, lets Ryan at the soft swell of his scent gland. The noise he makes as Ryan gently scrapes his teeth across is low and desperate. He wants that mark. 

He whines, unhappy and pouting, when Ryan pulls away.

Ryan presses his forehead against his shoulder, his breath short, and Lance wiggles in his grasp as his grip tightens to the point of hurting. 

“Are you sure you can say things like that to me?” 

Lance tries to twist around in Ryan’s grasp until he can pull Ryan up to look at him, but Ryan stays stubbornly pressed against his shoulder.

“You mean because of Allura?”

Ryan makes a disgusted sound like he thinks Lance is being deliberately obtuse. Lance grins and presses a kiss right on top of Ryan’s braids.

“If you don’t think she’d tie you down and ride you like a racehorse given half a chance then you absolutely have not been paying attention.”

Lance can _feel_ Ryan’s dick twitch at that. 

He scratches his nails through Ryan’s short hair, careful of the braids, and settles himself more firmly in Ryan’s lap as he thinks about his approach. “She would, you know,” he says low and husky. He lets himself think about it, Allura’s long limbs and mane of silver hair against the controlled power of Ryan’s bulk, and shivers. He pets down Ryan’s neck and shoulders as he curls over Ryan’s hunched shoulders. He curves down into Ryan’s space to whisper. “She’d keep you still, bring you right up to that trembling edge, and hold you there. If you asked her.”

Ryan groans. It’s soft, barely audible, but Lance feels it echo all through Ryan.

“Or would you want her sweet for you? All pretty and soft and such a _good_ girl?”

Lance can feel Ryan stop breathing. Feel the way every muscle from Ryan’s shoulders to his thick thighs coils tighter and feels so, so impossibly smug. He pets along Ryan’s shoulders, digs his fingers in where the muscle dips and swells. Trapezius to deltoid, he remembers from distant health classes. So perfectly defined on Ryan’s gorgeous body he could be a model for a Renaissance sculptor. Each straight line of his limbs, the sleek swell of his ass, the perfect curve of his smile is something fashioned right out of classical artwork all for Lance’s pleasure.

Then he thinks about Allura running her hands along Ryan’s skin, even darker than Allura’s golden brown. They’d fit together, Lance thinks, like the edge of the desert meeting a midnight sky.

It startles him, a little, that even through the beginnings of his heat haze, he wants to see that. Wants to see Ryan bend to Allura’s will. Wants to watch Allura be sweet and so _good_ for Ryan’s pleasure. The idea makes things pull low in his belly and he squirms, a little, as he gets hard and wet at the idea.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Ryan swears.

Lance smiles at him—smirks, really—when Ryan looks up with his pupils completely blown.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Ryan says. “Don’t you?”

“You want me to keep talking about it?” Lance asks, honestly curious. “Because if we’re all being totally upfront here, I have thought about it maybe a lot.”

Ryan blinks at him.

Lance kisses the very tip of his nose. “You two are, hands down, the two hottest people I have ever met in my entire fucking life. I’d have to be dead not think about it. Or criminally unimaginative. And I’m not, like, _Keith_. I’ve got an imagination.”

“Clearly.”

It takes a little wiggling around, some pushing, until Ryan’s tipping backward, letting Lance splay him out across the floor. All that dark, smooth skin over wicked muscle spread over the weird pseudo-laminate of their military issued apartment floors. The strange white makes Ryan’s skin look a million times darker, like he’s been cut out of obsidian and brought to life like Galatea. Lance spreads his fingers over the impossible expanse of Ryan’s chest and goes a little dizzy with the way lust sings along all his nerve endings. 

He sits there, paralyzed by all the choices, until Ryan laughs softly. White teeth flash in a wicked smile as Ryan smooths his hands along Lance’s thighs. It’s a mimicry of a soothing gesture, but they both know better. They can both feel Lance tremble like a leave in a gale force winds. 

“And here I thought nothing could shut you up.”

“You shut up.”

It’s not one of Lance’s better ripostes, he knows, but it makes that wicked smile spread, go a little crooked, and Ryan’s cocking an eyebrow before saying, smooth as silk and so godsdamned arrogant: “You could make me shut up. I have been told that I am very good with my mouth.”

The deep, feral bits of his instincts that live in his hindbrain snarl at the idea of anyone else getting their hands on Ryan, loathes the idea of him putting that gorgeous mouth on someone else’s body, and knows that it shows when Ryan pets him. But the more sensible bits of him—the calmer, rational Lance that doesn’t spend his time getting off on all the ways he could sink his scent into Ryan’s very bones—takes note of the invitation there.

“That a fact?”

“Peer reviewed.”

Lance leans down until they’re kissing distance. “Science means repeat tests, y’know.”

Ryan pulls him into a lazy kiss—a messy slide of tongues and lips with no real point other than to make each pant with need. Lance whines when Ryan pulls away. “If you want my mouth other places,” he says with that easy smirk that puts heat all through Lance’s body, “then you’re gonna have to show me.”

Lance wonders if its possible to feel your pupils dilate because he swears he does at the way Ryan makes that promise, voice dark and filthy. Ryan’s grin is entirely too pleased with himself when Lance breathes out hard. He swoops back down to kiss Ryan into breathlessness, full of teeth and little chirping growls, before scrambling to his feet. Ryan stretches underneath him, lazy like a cat, all show. Lance stares down at him, struck stupid with wanting, then his hands are flying to waistband of his sleep pants.

He strips out of the—completely unsexy but hella comfortable—flannel in an uncoordinated flail of limbs that has not an ounce seduction to it but an ungodly amount of desperation. Ryan makes noise, soft in the back of his throat, and Lance can’t help the way his eyes lock onto Ryan’s face like magnets. He blinks, hands full of crumpled flannel, awkward as he stands over Ryan. And then heat fills his cheeks as he realizes that Ryan’s got a perfect view of his cock curving hard and leaking pre-cum, and his _slit_ , so wet it’s making a mess of his thighs. He’s a desperate, needy mess and Ryan can see _all_ of it. He wants to hide.

Ryan makes that soft, hungry sound again before wrapping a hand around Lance’s ankle.

Lance crumples his flannel pants in his fists and whimpers, just a little.

“You should come down here, baby boy,” Ryan says, still flat on his back but somehow he looks like a king lounging on his throne even though he’s stretched out across the floor of Lance’s quarters. Lance’s head is full of static. He stares down at Ryan, uncertain. Ryan smooths a hand up his calf, gentle, but there’s an edge now to it. “Come sit on my face.”

Lance’s mind completely blanks out. His mouth pops open in surprise. Because, first, yes _please_ , but also how? What? And he has no idea how to get from standing to … where Ryan wants him. 

The smile that curls over Ryan’s lips is entirely unfair. It’s wicked and cruel and promises Lance’s utter ruin. Promises to wreck him to pieces and then put him back together the way Ryan wants only to do it all over again.

He doesn’t even really register the shock of his knees hitting the floor on either side of Ryan’s head. There’s a moment where he hovers, nervous, before Ryan slides his hands up Lance’s thighs, soft and possessive, to grip mean at his hips and pull him down. Lance fists his hands in his own hair as he trembles. It’s too much, it’s not enough, and he’s going to die of a catastrophic heart attack long before Ryan even gets his hands on him. Oh god.

Lance whines, high and needy, at the brush of hot air as Ryan arranges him the way he wants.

“Down, baby boy,” Ryan says, each word sending a shockwave all through Lance’s system. “Be good and do what I say.”

The careless command of it, the utter certainty, has Lance moving before his brain quite catches up to what he’s doing. He lowers himself carefully, terrified in the small rational bit of his mind, that he’ll crush Ryan or just somehow fuck this up—

At the first touch of Ryan’s tongue a sound rips out of Lance that doesn’t even have the suggestion of words. 

Ryan’s fingers flex against his hips, keeps him pinned against Ryan’s mouth, as Ryan licks up _into_ him. Lance’s hands fly to the top of Ryan’s head and hover there, uncertain, until another hotwetsmooth drag of Ryan’s tongue has him trembling, curling into himself with the heady of pleasure of it. Ryan scrapes his teeth across his slit, drags his tongue through the slick leaking out of him, and nips one fat, swollen lip. Lightning races up Lance’s spine. He can’t think around the way it feels, the sounds Ryan makes—wet and filthy—and the knowledge that this is happening now, that this is only the start reduces the space between his ears to nothing but white noise.

He whimpers and keens as Ryan eats him out all the while sounding like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Ryan,” he whimpers. Repeats it on every horrible, perfect swipe of Ryan’s tongue. “ _Ryan!_ ”

Heat builds in his low belly, slow and curling, until Ryan gets a hand around his cock and strokes him hard, twisting his fingers at the tip in time with the filthy curl of his tongue into Lance’s slit. The ragged noise that rips itself out of his throat when he comes is unspeakably loud. He spills across Ryan’s hand, feels himself clench around Ryan’s tongue. Even with his hands fisted in his own hair, pulling hard like the pain could anchor him against the tidal wave of pleasure, he feels unmoored.

He shakes and shakes and feels like he’s coming apart at the seams.

Ryan pulls him down until he sprawls, boneless and dazed, across his chest.

They’re spread across the floor of his quarters, cum sticky between them, Ryan still hard in his sweats, and Lance has the giddy realization that he’s got at least another forty-eight hours of this. His heat hasn’t even really started, they haven’t even really started, and he already feels fucked out and mindless. He presses his face into Ryan’s ridiculous chest and giggles.

“Not the reaction I was expecting.”

Lance hums something wordless, meaningless, and presses his cum-slicked fingers against Ryan’s abs. He rolls in Ryan’s arms until he can slither into a messy seat across Ryan’s lap. He grinds down against Ryan’s cock, still trapped in his ragged sweats, until the cotton is messy with his slick and clinging to both of them. Ryan writhes underneath him. Moans for him pretty. Flexes his fingers over Lance’s hips like he wants to flip them around and _take_ but is way too good for that.

The room fills with their scents and the heavy smell particular to good sex.

Ryan’s eyes heat to the point of burning, so dark they could be center of a black hole, as Lance spreads his fingers, showing off how his cum and slick drips between them on thick strings. He thinks about licking up it, finger by finger, like it’s a special treat, but then he has better idea.

The groan that drags itself out of Ryan’s chest when Lance uses his own cum and slick like finger paints across his chest is the best sound Lance has ever heard. He slides his fingers down Ryan’s chest, sweeping up to knead his pecs, tweak his nipples, and paint that midnight skin white and shiny. He can feel the purr start to rattle out of him as he works cum into Ryan’s skin, scent marking him like a feral godsdamned gremlin of an omega. 

When he leans down to drag his tongue over Ryan’s nipple, Ryan’s hand snaps up to his head to fist in his hair.

“Baby boy.” Holy shit. Ryan’s voice sounds like someone decided to make an audio file dedicated to sex and then weaponize that shit. “What are you doing?”

What a ridiculous question. Lance flexes his fingers against Ryan’s low abs as he slithers his way down Ryan’s body. He tilts his head into Ryan’s grasp like a cat seeking skritches. Ryan obligingly tightens his hand into a heavy fist at the base of his skull.

“Marking you,” he says before he licks up a line of his cum from the wicked cut of Ryan’s hips. The muscles there jump and shiver as Lance sucks a line of blooming bruises into Ryan’s skin. 

The world spins for a moment, dizzying in its suddenness, as Ryan flips them. Lance gapes up at him. Whines low in his throat when Ryan cages him between his arms, traps him under the weight of his body, and all his instincts croon and preen. Because _yes_. This. This is what he wants. To be pinned down, held tight, and fucked until he’s full and sated and has his alpha all over his skin. Has his scent sunk into every part of his alpha in return.

Ryan nuzzles against his neck, proprietary, before he gets his arms under Lance and—in a move that should be illegal, should be fucking _outlawed_ for what it does to Lance’s delicate heart—heaves Lance up into his arms. Lance clings on reflex. Wraps his arms around Ryan’s neck and squeaks, stunned, as Ryan stands up in one easy movement like Lance weighed less than half a cupcake. 

He has a chance to mourn, briefly, that he’s not gonna get fucked against a wall when Ryan tosses him onto his bed. But then Ryan’s stripping out of his sweats, heavy cotton peeling off his skin with a wet sound because Lance’d soaked the fabric that much. Lance’s mouth goes dry. He knew, objectively, that Ryan’s beautiful. Knew it the way you know that the escape velocity from Earth is 11.186 km/s or that the entropy of a black hole is proportional to its event horizon. It’s a fact he lived with as set, observable data. 

Lance had not been, however, prepared to have the reality of that fact crawling across his bed.

“How are you this _hot?_ ” Lance demands. 

He wants to be resentful with the knowledge, angry that this has been living next to him all this time hidden under hideous uniforms and combat armor, the question comes out worshipful. It’s a statement of awe. Of gratitude. It comes out of him like a prayer of thankfulness that he gets to have this.

Ryan laughs. “Baby boy,” he whispers the endearment against the sensitive skin of Lance’s throat as his hands sweep down to spread Lance’s legs wide. Grasps him behind his knees and pushes them up until Lance is on display, splayed out for Ryan’s hungry gaze. “Look at you.”

Lance tosses his head with the way Ryan’s voice pours over him like honey. He wants this, wants everything, and has no time to be polite about it. He’s already come once hard enough to rattle his brain right out of his head, but he hasn’t even had the chance to get his hands all over Ryan’s cock and he’s set to be all kinds of petulant about it.

“Ryan.” It’s a plea and a demand and if Ryan doesn’t do something right _now_ Lance cannot be held accountable for his action. “ _Alpha._ ”

Ryan croons something to him, low and meaningless, but the harmonics are pleased. 

“So pretty, baby boy,” he says like he expects Lance to have any sort of capacity to respond while Ryan’s keeping him spread out like Lance is any kind of pretty enough to be savoured. He squirms, needy and impatient, as Ryan rubs slow circles into the delicate skin behind Lance’s knees. 

Lance is about to move, to force Ryan to move, to do _something_ , when Ryan dips his head to mouth along Lance’s cock. Lance stares at the ceiling, mouths silent, meaningless syllables, and shakes as Ryan’s lips close around the head of his cock. He lets his legs splay wider as Ryan slips two fingers into him, all the way to the second knuckle all at once, and he shouts when Ryan crooks his fingers just right.

“Oh god,” he gasps as Ryan’s mouth moves over his cock like Ryan’s determined to memorize how it feels in his mouth for the rest of eternity. “Holy shit. And I thought I had an oral fixation.”

The laugh that rumbles out of Ryan reverberates all the way through Lance’s body like it’s a drum getting hit. He moans, breathless, at the sensation. He can’t get any sort of leverage with the way Ryan keeps him pinned to the bed with his knees by his ears, but he tries. Just needy little bucks of his hips as Ryan works him over. 

Ryan fingers him until he’s sloppy wet. Until the lewd sound is almost as loud as Lance’s moans. Sinks his mouth down Lance’s cock and swallows around him like he’s got any sort of defenses against that. Wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it lazily, while Ryan licks into his slit with two fingers holding him open.

The second orgasm takes him by surprise. Sweeps down over him like the wind of a sudden storm and he _wails_.

Lance is still struggling to breathe, panting in hard little gasps, when Ryan covers his body and kisses him filthy deep. Lance tastes the salty bitterness of his cum, the tang of his slick, in Ryan’s mouth and can’t keep himself from clawing at Ryan’s back. 

“Good?” Ryan asks, as if it isn’t the stupidest fucking question Lance has heard since, well, since ever.

“I am going to die before my heat is over.”

Ryan laughs at him again. Kisses him sweet. Covers his body like he knows that Lance needs it, needs the weight of him, to keep from flying to pieces with how good everything feels.

“Dramatic,” Ryan says against his mouth. 

Lance is spiteful. He squirms against Ryan’s hold. “You think this is dramatic? I’ll show you dramatic.”

“Nah,” Ryan says with that lazy little head cock that he does right before he kicks James’ ass all over the gym. Arrogance is a good look on him. It is devasting. Lance is devastated. “You’ll do what I tell you.”

There’s a part of him, the bit that’s well into his heat, that coos at the easy confidence in Ryan’s voice.

Then there’s the other part of him, the bit that’s a world class brat, that hears that and thinks _oh, you are on_. The brat bit, he’d like to note, is the way, waaaay bigger bit.

He gets a leg around Ryan’s hips, a hand under himself and another against Ryan’s shoulder, and flips them until he’s back astride Ryan’s hips. He shimmies a little in triumph.

“I like the view up here,” he says, smug in the face of Ryan’s obvious bemusement.

Ryan rolls his hips, thick cock dragging between the folds Lance’s slit, and grins. “Yeah? You wanna go for a ride baby boy?”

Lance nods, struck dumb with the way he can feel himself get Ryan’s cock filthy with his slick. Ryan grinds up against him and Lance moans. He jolts when Ryan slaps his ass, all amused and playful. The noise that crawls out of Lance’s throat is way, way less playful. Something dark bleeds into Ryan’s expression and his hand cracks down so hard the sound snaps through the air.

“You were gonna ride me, baby boy,” Ryan says. “So up you get.”

Lance drags himself up to his knees over Ryan’s cock, shaking and a little mindless. His ass stings where Ryan’s smacked it. And Ryan plants a hand there and kneads, vicious, against the forming bruise. Lance whines, helpless, as Ryan teases the head of his cock against Lance’s slit. 

“Sit down, sweetheart.”

The words and tone are sweet, but Ryan’s hands are unforgiving has he drags Lance down his cock. Lance’s hands spasm on Ryan’s chest, curling into claws, as he pants open mouthed and desperate at the way Ryan’s cock splits him open. Gods, Lance loves this. Loves the brutal stretch around Ryan’s cock and the wet slide as he takes inch after inch. It feels like it takes forever as he works himself down that hot length, Ryan pulling him down when he feels like he can’t possibly take any more.

“There’s you go, baby boy,” Ryan croons when Lance finally, finally sits all the way down, legs shaking against Ryan’s hips. He’s so full he thinks he can taste Ryan’s cock in the back of his _throat_.

But he gets no mercy. No sweet words or time to adjust. Ryan lifts him by the hips, plants his feet against the bed, and _thrusts_. Lance’s head drops back and he stares, sightless, witless, at the ceiling at the brutal pace Ryan sets. 

“Fuck,” he groans as Ryan snaps his hips. His arms shake with every thrust. “ _Fuck_.”

“You wanted a ride, baby boy.”

Oh god, he did. He really, really did. 

While he’s gasping with every thrust, brains fucked straight out of his head, Ryan flips them again. The grin Ryan wears is lethal. Lance is not built to withstand the sight of this man kneeling between his legs. Not built to survive feeling the drag of his cock, heavy and hot, with every thrust. The sound he makes is inhuman at the sight of Ryan sitting back on his heels so he can drag Lance’s hips up, keep them there with one arm, and just pound into him.

“Good?”

Lance mewls for him, words are an impossibility, nods helplessly when Ryan’s grin goes wicked. He’s gasping on every hard thrust in, mewling with the loss on every drag out, and, in short, a complete mess. Lance finds his voice when Ryan changes his pace to something slow and steady. Finds a rhythm that sets all his nerve endings alight with pleasure. He begs until his words don’t taste like words anymore.

“Fuck,” Ryan whispers. 

He leans down until he can brace himself with his elbows next to Lance’s head, the hard thrust of Ryan’s hips not slowing for a moment, and kiss Lance so sweet Lance thinks he’ll die from it. Lance loops his arms around Ryan’s shoulders and gasps, tears spring up in the corners of his eyes, as all he can do is _take_ each punishing thrust.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ryan whispers again, tone nearly reverent, like he’s watching something miraculous. 

There’s a catch and drag of something bigger, something harder, on each thrust and Lance pants around the brutal stretch of it. Something sings in his veins like honey wine. He fists his hands in Ryan’s hair, wrapping fingers around the short braids, and drags him down into a messy kiss.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Want it. Ungh. Want it so bad. Alpha, Ryan, please please please.”

His voice shatters into meaningless syllables as Ryan’s hips stutter. He feels it when Ryan’s knot finally swells to full size, locking them together, until all Ryan can do is grind against him. Lance mouths along Ryan’s shoulder, trying to find some solid ground under the relentless tide of sensation. It’s nothing like anything he’s ever felt before and he’s coming apart at the seams.

Ryan works a hand between them even as he keeps his forehead pressed tight against Lance’s neck and Lance _screams_ with the first touch of Ryan’s fingers around his cock. He’s writhing on Ryan’s knot as Ryan works him through his orgasm. He feels himself spill—again, an impossible three times—between them. He rakes furrows down Ryan’s back, wailing, as he comes.

“ _Lance_.”

The low, rough groan of his name is the only warning he gets before Ryan is coming. Lance doesn’t know what he says, can’t make sense of the world around him, as he feels that hot spill inside him. Something in his hindbrain purrs, pleased and sated, as Ryan pulses inside him. Ryan’s still moving his hips against him in filthy circles, grinding his knot into sensitive places Lance didn’t even know he _had_.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans. “How are you coming so much?”

Ryan says something, a blur of noise, against his shoulder and grinds in a little harder.

“How is that so hot? I want, nnngh, fuck,” Lance pants as Ryan smears one cum-sticky hand over the back of Lance’s neck to hold him closer. “I want all of it. Oh fuck, _fuck_.”

“Greedy.”

It’s the most coherent word Ryan’s managed in the long pulse of his orgasm and of course it’s vaguely sly and sarcastic. Lance bites him. It’s light and its nowhere near where he’d need to for a bonding mark, but Ryan jerks against him like he’s been electrocuted.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Lance says, and he has no fucking clue how he’s managing to be this coherent when he’s dizzy with the feeling of Ryan pumping him full and keeping him pinned. Apparently, he really can run his mouth with precisely zero input from his brain. “You’ve met me.”

Ryan hums an affirmative. The sound is lazy and content, a perfect counterpoint to the way satisfaction is sinking into Lance’s bones. Lance wraps his arms around Ryan’s neck to drag him down against Lance’s shoulder, cradling him close, as Ryan goes lax in his grip. His heat is still there, a burning in his veins, but it’s a distant pressure. Nothing that can withstand the way he feels impossibly full and warm and content with Ryan pressing him into the bed.

He pets down Ryan’s back. “You’re right,” he says against Ryan’s hair.

Ryan lifts his head enough to look at him, one eyebrow up.

“This isn’t gonna fuck us up—”

Ryan starts to smile at him, sweet.

“It’s just gonna make sure we get _fucked_.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. Lance opens his mouth to say more, because man does he have so much material with that now, and Ryan fits a hand over his mouth. “Go to sleep, baby boy, and next time we’ll talk about what to do with your girl.”

Oh. Lance blinks. Hm.

“ _If_ you’re good.”

Lance nods from behind Ryan’s hand. Because he can be good. He can be _so_ good for a promise like that.

**Author's Note:**

> writing this for the rare kink bingo. There will be more, idly, as I try to figure out how to hit bingo.
> 
> honestly this was supposed to be, like, 2k of filthy heat sex but apparently I lack impulse control.


End file.
